Remembrance.

"Why did he not take me to his grave then...?"

His grandmother uttered in despair after the ab-scorched heat took its toll on her frail body and mind. During this incident, a gathering of the villagers in the local, obscene but peaceful cemetery was in effect; to honour, remember and cherish the ones who died in the past years. 

M's grandfather, was one of the fallen.
The one who gave him great memories of his childhood.

M stood by his grandmother, held a cardboard box folded into a makeshift fan apparatus, winding up a smooth but unstable air flow towards her. She was thankful.

This weekend was spent back in the longhouse of the Iban tribe of Borneo. 3 days to remember.


A day of relieving oneself from the harsh reality of a passing one.


A day of celebrating 2011. The New Year. 
Riding on the back of a truck with 4 drunk women.
A 2:30am standoff between the drunken musicians of the Iban tribesman along with their potent extravagant rice wine against the unaware and sleepy M.


And a day of getting the truck stuck in the unparalleled amounts of quicksand, and the endless journey of heading back home with feet heading towards the depths of the sand.

Stuck in sand

2011. Something that will prosper, and grow...or fall and wilt.


Remembrance.